


Colliding with the Sky

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Adoption, Characters of color, Duck puns, Duck-pun names are now normal names, Families of Choice, Family fun, Humanized Ducktales, I like diversity and showing off my headcanons, Launchpad is sweetheart, M/M, They're people dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 01:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11635974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: Launchpad McQuaid is many things, pilot, chauffeur, babysitter, and...lovesick idiot?





	Colliding with the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> With every day we get closer to the premiere, the more excited I get. I've gotta channel that excitement somewhere, thus this second Ducktales fic when I haven't even finished my first. 
> 
> To avoid confusion, I'll clarify now that the characters are humanized in this story, so you're not surprised by the changes in their names to remove the duck-puns :D

_No one has ever collided with the sky._

    To be a pilot one needed to have courage. To be a pilot like Launchpad McQuaid one needed something entirely different. To lose one’s survival instinct, namely.

  
    It was true that Launchpad was in a league of his own, and his skill at flying was only matched by his expertise in risk taking. And despite some turbulence on the path to employment, Launchpad was approached by someone whose penchant for taking risks superseded his own.

  
   Working for Scrooge McDuff was dream made reality, which more than made up for the fantastically low pay. However, in the five years Launchpad had worked for Scrooge McDuff, he also witnessed the steady decline of the world’s greatest adventurer without ever really knowing the reason why. The first two years of his employment were buoyed by feats of derring do and wild travel; jungle escapades in the likes of Belize and Borneo, treasure hunting on tiny islands clustered together in the middle of vast oceans, the names of which Launchpad had never heard before. Working for Scrooge McDuff was a game in expecting the unexpected; one week they would be journeying to find the Lost City of Kalahari, and visiting Kansas City for a conference the next.

  
   But not long after Launchpad began year three as Scrooge’s personal pilot, their jaunts became less and less frequent. Scrooge still hired him out, but in a more official capacity, making deliveries as a pilot for McDuff Industries and sometimes as chauffeur. Launchpad was usually quite good at getting people to open up to him (it was something about his guileless personality, his mother said) but Scrooge was locked up tighter than his own money bin. And while the jobs kept coming, Launchpad rarely saw his boss anymore, holing up in his mansion for longer and longer stretches of time.

  
   And when Launchpad _did_ manage to see him, though pleasantly cantankerous and acerbic on a good day, Scrooge alternated between lashing out cruelly, in ways Launchpad had never seen before (at least not from McDuff), and silent treatment so profound that even the ever-chatty Launchpad didn't dare disturb him.

  
   Even stranger, it was around this time that Scrooge welcomed Mrs. Beckley’s young, rambunctious niece Abbigail into his home. Launchpad first met Scrooge’s trusted right hand when he stopped by the mansion to pick up some old British tapestries of Scrooge’s from the 12th or 13th century, to be delivered to some fancy museum out east.

  
   Bettina Beckley was a tall, middle-aged African-American woman, just a few inches shorter than Launchpad, who always smelled inexplicably of vanilla, and was built like a brick house. Now Launchpad was no slouch, but it was on their first meeting that he was struck by the absolute certainty that should Mrs. Beckley wish it, she could snap him in two with her pinky.

  
   He let Mrs. Beckley in on his observation as he loaded the plane, and in response she’d laughed and invited him to drop by for tea whenever he felt like it. She also didn't deny his claim.

  
   But Launchpad eagerly took her up on her offer, and it was during one such tea tête-à-tête that Launchpad voiced his concerns about their shared employer.

  
   “I haven’t seen Mr. McDee in weeks!” Launchpad said around a mouthful of oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. He waved his half-empty cup of tea in accord with his vehemence.“I get all my orders through Mrs. Weatherby, and it’s been local stuff for months.”

  
   Mrs. Beckley took a measured sip of her tea, chai this time around, but her furrowed brow betrayed her consternation.

  
   “I understand that you’re worried, Lawrence, but you know Mr. McDuff has always been a very private person.”

  
   Launchpad shook his head, staring down into his teacup. He stubbornly extended his pinky every time he took a sip, despite Mrs. Beckley’s amused protests that it wasn't necessary. Tea always felt like a fancy drink to Launchpad, whose idea of personal luxury ended with cherry cola.

  
   “There’s being private and then there’s being a hermit, Mrs. B,” Launchpad responded, glancing back up. “Has he even gone to the office this week?”

  
   Mrs. Beckley sighed, plucking a cookie from the tray on the table between them. “Twice.”

  
   “And unless he’s got a new pilot who’ll fly for cheaper than me, he’s not leaving Duckburg either.” Launchpad drained the last of his tea, and he considered the dregs as his concerns culminated at the forefront of his mind.

  
   For all that Scrooge appeared larger than life, Launchpad knew from personal experience that people who seemed indestructible tended to take the most devastating hits. And while Mrs. Beckley swore that Scrooge’s health was not in question, Launchpad knew something _was_ the matter.

  
   Mrs. Beckley lowered her teacup into her lap, scrutinizing Launchpad with a curious eye.

  
   “Why are you so worried over Mr. McDuff, Lawrence?”

  
   Launchpad shrugged, plucking another cookie from the tray and doing his best not to slouch in his fancy armchair, lest Mrs. Beckley tut over his manners again.

  
   “He’s my friend. For all the time I've known Mr. McDee, he’s never acted like this. And as far as I know, the guy doesn't have any family.”

  
   Mrs. Beckley’s smile sobered.

  
   “To be honest, I don’t think Mr. McDuff _has_ any friends,” she admitted, a little stiffly.

  
   Launchpad shrugged again, knowing Mrs. Beckley was probably right. It didn’t change his own feelings on the matter, of course. Scrooge was good people, and his parents always told him you don’t let go of good people.

  
   He took another large bite out of a cookie before responding, knowing it would offend Mrs. Beckley’s sensibilities to talk with his mouth full.

  
   “Well I consider him mine,” he said, coming out garbled around the cookie.

  
   Mrs. Beckley’s sympathetic expression tightened predictably in amused disgust. “Honestly, Lawrence, Abby has better manners than you do.”

  
   At this they both turned to look down at the unofficial third member of their party, Abby Van Kirk. Half Japanese, half African-American, the nine-year-old had light brown skin and straight black hair, and was in possession of an unbridled energy that was a match for even Mrs. Beckley’s imperturbable poise. However, Abby had acquiesced to an hour of quiet time in exchange for some of Mrs. B’s delicious cookies and a trip to the park, and was currently reading a book while laying on her stomach, a plate of oatmeal chocolate treats on the ground beside her elbow.

  
   “Whatcha reading, Abbs?”

  
   Abby glanced up, and her face held the familiar glazed expression of someone who had been tuning out the rest of the world. It was gone the next second, replaced by an even more familiar eagerness and intelligence.

  
   “I’m reading this book about Egyptian mummies and the process of mummification,” Abby explained cheerfully, turning her book around so the adults could see a detailed illustration of a gaunt, mummified face.

  
   “That’s nice, dear,” Mrs. Beckley responded approvingly.

  
   “Uncle Scrooge let me borrow it,” Abby told Launchpad in a stage whisper.

  
   He smiled, exchanging a glance with Mrs. Beckley. “‘Uncle Scrooge,’ huh?”

  
   “Launchpad,” Abby said, rising to her feet and bringing the open book over to him. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians didn’t store the mummies’ brains like they did with all the other organs? They’d stick a stick through the nose and liquefy it instead, if they didn’t just leave the brain to shrivel up there.”

  
   Mrs. Beckley bore the tired, if entertained expression of someone long used to the antics of children, but it had been years for Launchpad and he couldn’t help bursting into laughter.

  
   “Mr. McDee’s always telling me I’ve got empty space between my ears, maybe that’s the reason why?”

  
   Launchpad was rewarded with Abby’s familiar giggle-snort and the feeling of Mrs. Beckley’s disquiet in the way her gaze drilled holes in the side of his head.

  
   Changing the subject before Mrs. Beckley could get on a roll about his self-image, Launchpad stood and took a final swig of his tea.

  
   “Alright, Abbs, think the dead guys can wait till we two adventurers get back from the park?”

  
   Abby grinned, closing the book with care and handing it to her aunt. “Can we fly there?”

  
   “ _Well_ -” Launchpad wheedled.

  
   “ _No_.”

  
   Abby groaned in disappointment, and Launchpad only just contained his laughter.

  
   “Sorry, your aunt makes the rules. But there is something we can do,” Launchpad paused to open his arms, and Abby leapt into them elatedly. He lifted her onto his shoulders, and continued, “Now we’re more powerful than ever before! With my muscles and your brains, we are now Mega Abbs!”

  
   Abby was giggling like mad from her towering perch. “Or Launchpad Supreme!”

  
   Launchpad made a show of leaning heavily to the side, keeping hold of Abby’s legs as she cried out in surprise.

   “Hmmm...Nah, I like mine better.”

  
   “Be careful you two,” Mrs. Beckley admonished, but her smile belied her tone.

  
   “Don’t worry, Aunt Betty, I’ll bring him back in one piece,” Abby replied confidently, and the two adults chuckled.

  
   Launchpad made to leave, as Abby had already begun drumming on his head in anticipation, but his conversation with Mrs. Beckley still lingered at the forefront of his mind.

  
   “Uh, so, Mrs. B, you think you can keep an eye on Mr. McDee?” He said, shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot.

  
   If Mrs. Beckley was surprised by the sudden shift in topic, she didn’t show it. “It _is_ my job to feed him most days,” she retorted, not unkindly, “I’ll let you know if I notice anything stranger than usual.”

  
   “I appreciate that.” Launchpad’s smile shifted into a laughing wince as Abby began to groan.

  
   “ _Launchpaaaaad_!”

  
   “Alright, alright, I’m goin’!”

  
   Despite Mrs. Beckley’s recommendations to the contrary, Launchpad found himself worrying over his boss over the course of the next two years. Launchpad wasn't usually the kind of person who _worried_ , but then he’d never had a boss quite like Scrooge McDuff before. His boss who continued to take measures to isolate himself not only from his friends (or _friend_ , if Mrs. B was to be believed), but the world at large. He knew from Mrs. Beckley that Abby was the only person Scrooge willingly spent any extended period of time with, sharing with her the adventures of his youth, which Abby would then relay to Launchpad whenever Mrs. B asked him to keep an eye on her.

  
   Launchpad’s main concern was getting Scrooge back on those adventures, with little to no idea of how to do so. He never would've guessed that all it would take was three mischievous triplets, who would change his life for the better as surely as they would change Mr. McDee’s.

  
   But then again, no one could have ever expected Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! The next chapter should be posted relatively soon!  
> Please comment, this starving artist relies on feedback in order to survive.


End file.
